The Silence In Between
by fjun
Summary: AU. The Prothean ruins on Mars empty, humanity developed differently. In a time of digitalised consciousness, genetic manipulation and psychospiritually conditioned killers, Shepard is sent to Illium in his capacity as an agent to the Council, to follow up a suspicious murder where everyone else has hit nothing but dead ends. Or ended up dead.
1. A Change Of Pace

_Author's notes:_

_Welcome to my AU story - The Silence In Between._

_So I've been playing around with an AU take on Mass Effect for a long while. _

_First I began like (I guess) many do, with a First Contact story. I've outlined the general plot and the themes I wanted to explore and wrote about 20.000 words. Then I somehow felt stuck, could find a way to go on and I lost interest. _

_Time passed and I started with a new story, this time set on Omega and I had drafts for every chapter and the first two ready to publish. __But, because I'm a perfectionist I didn't start to post that fic either (only the first chapter, few of you might've noticed - but I deleted it), I've felt unsure about the validity of the plot and the characterisation of nearly all my characters. Or at least their evolution or lack thereof. Sure, there was awesome action, but that isn't all there is to a story. So I paused again for a few weeks or months, I don't quite remember._

_One dreary evening, with nothing better to do, I picked up all my notes again and started to flesh out my Shepard's backstory and upbringing a bit. After putting the finishing touches to my character, this creation of mine first came into being. _

_As a consequence of this story being set inbetween Mass Effect 1 and Mass Effect 2, it'll hit the floor running and I'll throw a lot of things (also past choices and events) at you, which you might or might not associate with the Mass Effect universe at large._

_I've not yet decided if there'll be an actual pairing or rather if the planned lenght of this fic would even be suitable to develop such a complex thing. But there'll be relationships of some kind, however short or self-serving they are._

_This story and every bit I've written of my aforementioned literary miscarriages were inspired by the Takeshi Kovacs trilogy by Richard K. Morgan. I urge you, check it out._

Disclaimer:_ Mass Effect, Mass Effect 2, Mass Effect 3 and all related characters and trademarks are property of EA/Bioware. __Takeshi Kovacs trilogy belongs to Richard K. Morgan. __Rated M for language, violence and suggestive (maybe even explicit) themes_.

_If you have any questions, write me a review or PM me._

_Please, enjoy._

**.**

**[****_h_****+]**

**.**

**The Silence In Between **

**Chapter I **

**A Change Of Pace**

**.**

**[****_h_****+]**

**.**

The Hero of the Citadel groaned awake.

Groggily, he rubbed rheum from his eyes, finding that it didn't drove the arid soreness away.

A betrayer to his race they'd labelled him. The monster which waited at the end of the dream. Some even dug out his old moniker.

The Butcher.

Johann Shepard had never asked for their gratitude. Or their gene-deep hatred. It was just the way of his people. Everyone liked to hold on to a good grudge, an impersonal target, best far removed from the common citizen, to vent all their frustrations and fears on.

Yet, they never cling to such pettiness for long. Move on, they then tell themselves. It's what any decent human being would do. And thus their conscience feels soothed. They've forgiven a worse person out there they don't even know or have met, so, surely, their own, lesser sins can be forgiven, as well.

Lust. Gluttony. Greed. Sloth. Wrath. Envy. Pride.

The list grows larger with each passing minute. A testament to the human race. To each individual. Because they're somebody, not nobody, and the galaxy cares about their pains and failures. Least, that's what everybody tells him or herself when they slip off into slumber.

Makes them feel better. Appreciated. Warm balm for the soul.

It's not so much the fact that they don't like to hold grudges, sitting upon their high ethical horse. They do. People just have a short memory. That's all.

The sort of clinical calculation needed to see the light at the far end of the tunnel filled with darkness and smoke and gunfire, which enables people like Johann to sacrifice thousands of lives, it frightens them beyond reason, limited by myopia, blinded by the radical truth itself.

In all of the possible outcomes having been run through his head, Shepard would've never even suspected to be able to last as long as he did. In a strange way, a detached happiness vibrated through him at the thought. It's good, to be able to still surprise yourself.

Three months, by now. Exactly.

The iron Envoy conditioning was a gift and a curse at the same time. It rather depended on the situation he found himself in. It wasn't helpful, in so far, that the total awareness kept you apprised of even the smallest shifts in your surroundings. Or the lack thereof. Combat trimmed senses stirred and howled at the absence of movement and motion. The oppressing weight of nothing changing spoke against every fibre of Johann's being.

Waking up every day, already knowing what he was in for another twenty standard galactic hours on the space station located at the heart of the galaxy, as it is so romantically called, well, with that it certainly helped.

Patience. They taught him, ingrained in him. And he exerts it when found suitable.

Always the same four walls drawn up around to greet him by the sprawling artificial grey of dawn. Always an upset crowd of protesters outside, dulled only by the closed window and the soft hum of the ventilation desperately trying to clean the room of any residual curlicues of smoke. At the very least, the crowd changed day by day, though the overwhelming amount of human members was never usurped by alien ones. It filled Johann with a certain comfort of predictability.

Things never change.

If one were bold enough to take a step back and gaze at the bigger picture, they'd see. This flat disk, the circular current of endless iteration rushing on, never tiring. Repetition on a galactic scale, and each and every one of them just a drop. A mere blip of sentient biological existence, so convinced that my, oh yes, my life matters in this chaotic maelstrom called order. This peaceful existence of bliss, this feeling of security. How self-obsessed these naïve fools were, never once asking who kept the bad man from knocking on their door.

By now, his Citadel-based apartment resembled a warzone. Only the purifying heat of an all-out fire would be able to remove all the emptied bottles, crushed aluminium cans and smears of long since dried food.

With his upper back leaning against his bedraggled bed, long legs splayed out in front of him, Johann took a deep drag of his cigarette. Uncaringly, he used his bedroom's carpeted floor as an ashtray.

Sneaking a glance at his dimmed omni-watch through narrowed eyes, so as to not flood his visual sense with the current equivalent of a flashbang, Johann Shepard found himself mildly surprised.

11:03 am. Local time.

He hadn't enjoyed his first smoke that early since a few hazy days. Turning away from the watch, he dismissed the numbing proliferation that came with self-destructive behaviour in between states of inebriation and during the silence of loneliness. When only one's self is available and inclined to share company.

The mystery of one's self, locked up within the same four walls. An infinite debate over matters important and trivial never voiced out loud, never turning sour. Bitter, maybe. Some would be driven mad by the unabating proximity of one's self, the absence of community.

Grinding out the remaining stub of his cigarette, Shepard looked over his shoulder. And the refreshing sense of mystery residing there. To forget something as an Envoy was virtually impossible. The rigid Envoy conditioning came hand in hand with total recall, even if your sleeve wasn't outfitted with a greybox.

All those augmentations were to the flesh. But Envoy training attached itself far deeper. The mind, broken into pieces and re-forged. Grafted onto the psyche. The only thing as of yet untouched. Pure. When your consciousness speeds through the yawning blackness of space riding the currents of an interstellar quantumcast transmission and you get downloaded and decanted inside a new sleeve then your mind hasn't changed. Not one bit. You don't even realise that time has passed. Just a blink and you open your eyes again, wearing flesh that isn't your own.

A bit less than five decades and an interspecies war ago that's been the preferred method for humanity to venture among the stars. Mankind hadn't yet developed even the most basic mass effect engines and ships were still propelled by antimatter, taking them weeks or months, sometimes even years to arrive at their destination.

'Simpler times,' Johann sighed to himself. _But not necessarily better._

Fighting with his hungover sleeve over dominance of motor control, he struggled to his feet and, once again, regarded the mysterious display of dishevelled blankets and damp temperfoam. Not even sure with what kind of race or gender he'd had sex with just a few hours ago, Shepard's hand flexed as if to touch the picture of fading hedonistic debauchery. He thought better of it, refraining from letting curiosity take over.

Warming to the idea that he'd never really know, Shepard's lips twitched into a tired half-smile. Must've been one hell of a hangover if it even managed to disable his eidetic memory. Probably, narcotic-induced or aided.

With all the subtly of an ultravibe grenade going off, his hysterically beeping omni-tool caught him standing on the edge of self-doubt and yanked him back into the moment.

Already knowing the identity of the caller – callers, to be precise – Shepard answered the encrypted transmission channel with a nagging feeling of prejudice.

'Councillors,' he said to them, intonation flat.

Surprisingly, Shepard didn't had to forcibly suppress a flinch trying to dart through him at the ebony face among the Citadel Council. And the expression of disappointment it wore. Just there, one the leftmost position. Even though it was human in nature.

As always the asari councillor spoke up first, 'Agent Shepard. We have a matter at hand that demands a Spectre of your particular skillset.'

Information began to trickle down.

Shepard absorbed everything.

**.**

**[_h_+]**

**.**

Feeling adventurous, Shepard decided to travel to Illium per civilian charter spaceship instead of quantumcast transmission.

With all the things going on right now, he just didn't want to wake up in a foreign sleeve. The alien feeling of unfamiliar flesh draped over your body like cloth didn't sound particularly inviting at the moment, a stranger's face staring back at you in the mirror. The gut-wrenching nausea, the disorientation shaking into your limbs, the small kinks and pains in places you've never felt anything alike, all feelings he gratefully avoided. Even though Envoys were trained for just that.

And, truth be told, the sentiment of interstellar flight had grown on him during all the time spent aboard the Normandy. The blue-shift of faster-than-light speed or the tranquilising stillness of the ship itself during transit.

Internally frowning at him, Shepard's Envoy conditioning pushed the reminiscent mood out the door and clamped shut.

They broke atmosphere with a short quiver of metal until the inertia negation dampeners kicked in. A few minutes later the overlapping protective layer outside the window of his private cabin retracted upwards, granting him his first view of colourful Nos Astra.

A forest of elegant glass spires reached up beyond the cover of clouds, reflecting Illium's waning sun in a breath-taking violet. Crisscrossing lanes of skycars zipped throughout the city, glimmering like miniature stars waiting in line. Organically winding arcologies towered over pristine corporate skyscrapers. All it managed to do was hide the toxic smog and run-down slums underneath from plain sight.

Soon after, the Nos Astra spaceport drifted into view. Shuddering, as if the civilian transporter had caught a nasty cold whilst crossing the sea of stars between Illium and the heart of the galaxy, they docked. Throwing over his carbon nanotube reinforced leather jacket, Shepard shouldered his duffle bag after checking up one last time on his Diamond Back revolver holstered under his left armpit.

Just outside the docking tube and through Customs, where he flashed his Spectre credentials and was simply waved through, a bulky skycar with _Illium Law Enforcement_ printed on the hull parked. Around, four similarly outfitted troopers waited, looking decidedly bored. The fifth perched atop the flooring of the powered-down skycar, legs crossed and with the opened hatch above her like a sunshade. All of them were asari.

Only when it became apparent for them as well, that he'd simply walk by them, they began to scramble into movement. Two of the troopers blocked his way forward and the other two halted a few steps behind him. Shepard felt the dire need to sigh but kept his features composed.

'Commander Shepard.' First mistake. He didn't hold that rank, at least not at the moment. He let it slide. 'We're here to escort you to your apartment.' The ILE trooper addressing him indicated towards the skycar. 'And the lieutenant would like to have a word with you.'

Johann looked over, contemplating. 'Right.'

Without another word, the four ILE troopers filed into their transport and readied it for take-off. The lieutenant looked up from her position, surveying him with an expression bordering on open hostility.

'The Hero of the Citadel,' she drawled. 'Never thought I'd have the honour.'

**.**

**[_h_+]**

**.**

Lieutenant Iresa picked at her nails.

How long could it take a Spectre to wave his badge and prance through Customs? The human, the fresh hero sure had taken his sweet time. Only to be insolent enough to idly stroll by them, as if they were nothing but a tedious piece of looped advertisement.

The man looked different than on all the holo-posters and vids. Not in the way like those on quaint lists like _sexiest CEOs of Nos Astra _did. Standing tall, his figure still built like a swimmer's, yet he looked . . . unkempt. His hair longer, bound back high in a short ponytail, rebellious strands escaped here and there. Jaw shrouded behind a thick stubble, eyes sunken and the area around them darkened as if smeared with charcoal. Haggard, dishevelled, pretty much the opposite of what Iresa expected. Not very reassuring.

And even though you couldn't really trust any human to be who he said to be, Iresa could read it. In his gait, in the way his eyes surveyed the bustling spaceport. In his relaxed stance while he stood surrounded by four of her troopers, undaunted.

To her baiting offer of welcome he responded flatly. 'Didn't realise the Council would send me a tourist guide.'

'I'm not your fancy asari tourist guide, Spectre,' Iresa snapped. 'Better get that out of your head.'

Gaze outwardly empty, he said, 'Why're you here, then?' After a few heartbeats, his expression turned smug. 'Ah, you have to. Stepped on someone's toe?'

Iresa reassured herself not to be rattled. 'Well, I guess then we'd have something in common.'

The man scrutinised her as if she were just another part of the skycar. 'Nothing of consequence, I'd wager.'

She scoffed, fed up with his antics. _Never met one of the SA's psychospiritually conditioned killers, but they sure as hell take all the fun out of it. _

'Lieutenant Iresa,' she said, by way of introduction.

'Shepard, Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance.'

'I know.'

He shrugged dismissively and entered the skycar.

**.**

**[_h_+]**

**.**

_Welcome to Illium. _

_I guess._

It seemed even asari partook in some form of dick-waving contest. Cover up all those nasty insecurities. Better that way, lest someone would actually spot them.

Two of the troopers had vanished into the pilot's compartment, whilst the rest stayed with Johann. They sat in tense silence. Lieutenant Iresa seemed to be trying to burn holes into his face with the sole power of her glare. Admittedly, she managed a quite convincing one, just not to an Envoy. The fire in her eyes wasn't even half-burn. She could do better, surely.

If there ever existed one singular rule he'd learned and experienced throughout his years as a member of the Envoy Corps, then it'd have to be the fact that, sometimes, you simply have to push people in order to drawn them out. Anger. Fear. Love. Just buttons to press. So when Shepard settled into a more relaxed position – as impossible as that sounded – and began playing around with his omni-tool he actually had to consciously suppress the impish smile just dying to escape him at her reaction. Her scoff actually sounded quite . . . attractive. In a way. Mentally he shook his head. A fucked up way.

As an involuntary consequence of his inner monologue, Johann's eyebrow twitched up at his own thoughts. Sloppy.

Of course, watching him like a hawk, the lieutenant misunderstood the gesture. She seemed ready to biotically rip his head off by now.

'What?' she growled. 'Something amusing you, Spectre?'

The two ILE troopers with them inside the compartment froze, eyes darting around in equal amounts of shock and panic. Seeking a way to escape the cramped interior should the need arise.

Shepard let it hang there in the silence for a few charged seconds.

'Nothing immediate.'

Her voice turned hot-blooded. 'You know, I never liked your kind.' She crossed her arms. 'I might not know much about you Envoy psychos, but Spectres. Well. I've met a few of you in my time. Acting all superior. Everyone else just knows jack shit. Not even worth your consideration. Are we?' Tiredly indicating towards him, she added, 'You just don't give a fuck. Do you?'

Lieutenant Iresa shook her head, looking down. The absence of anger. Deflation. The good kind. An angry rant could do that very effectively.

'Well, I do.' Now, she just sounded plain wrung out. Time to throw the punch.

Johann cleared his throat. 'Tell me about the bodies.'

She looked up at him, a badly imitated frown wrinkling her brow. 'If you think that I-'

'Oh, I know that you do, lieutenant. You're upset. I get it. I'm on your turf, stepping on your toes. I'm guessing there was no conclusive evidence.' Without waiting for acknowledgement on her part, he rushed ahead. The Envoy training in full stride, rushing through him like a feeling of past youth. 'So you closed the case. Officially or unofficially?'

Lieutenant Iresa blinked at him. 'Officially.' Shepard could barely catch her answer.

'Right. So let's dispense with the bullshit. And. Get. To. Work.'

She'd misjudged, that much was clear. The expression flickering over her face bespoke of bewilderment and re-evaluation. Lieutenant Iresa's features hardened, a glint sharpening her eyes.

A single nod. Careful. Unsure. But not outright hostile any longer. Hopeful even? Shepard could work with that.

'The bodies?' he pressed.

'Two of them. Both human. Both female. Pumped full with drugs. Pretty obvious signs of sexual intercourse . . . and one of them was Sani Shelani.'

'Should that mean something to me?'

'I guess not.' She shrugged. 'Illium Entertainment's Sexiest Human Alive. Big time celebrity.'

Johann breathed out. 'Both RD'd?'

'You mean if their stacks were destroyed?'

'Yeah. Real Death.'

'They were, in fact. Pulsejet blaster, found in Shelani's hand, but she's already running around again. Alive as ever.'

_Backup storage. Should've expected as much._

Of course, such lofty measures were only available to the outrageously rich. The small percentage of truly immortal humans among an unending ocean of mere mortals. Having numerous cloned sleeves on ice as well as a periodic wireless backup of your cortical stack has quite a price.

'The other one?'

The ILE lieutenant shook her head. 'Nothing. Anybody could've worn that sleeve. And with her stack turned to slag, we've no way of finding out who did.'

'Facial recognition?'

She snorted, faintly amused. 'That'd be a shot in the dark. Even if the lower half of her face weren't missing. Especially, with our limited resources.'

'Limited? I'd assumed you'd be given the exact opposite with a public figure involved.'

'Well, we weren't. They just wanted us-,' she indicated towards herself, '-to perform a miracle and close this case asap.'

'They?'

'Mira T'armali. Shelani's partner . . . in life. Though how they manage that, I can't possibly imagine. T'armali is even bigger than Shelani. Double her money, double her beauty. Double the cunt.' The lieutenant made a gesture as if to swat an annoying insect aside. 'Or something like that. Anyways, my guess is, she bought off someone higher up the ladder in ILE to get this whole thing settled.'

'Bad press?'

Lieutenant Iresa grunted. 'Sure. All that. T'armali just wanted to hear a convenient lie everyone could live with and one the wizened hags up top in ILE could forget about real quick. For the right price, naturally.'

'So I told them what everybody wanted me to tell them. Rich-ass celebrity goes out and wants to have some fun. Gets herself a whore ready to do anything. They inject, inhale and ingest every drug they find. Because, you know. It's fun and famous people do that kind of stuff all the time. Kinky turns into something else. Shelani whips out her blaster and torches the hooker's stack for sexual thrill. Comes down from her high and can't live with what she's done.' Through the sneer twisting her features, her voice sounded even more sardonic. 'Voila. Crime solved.'

Incredulously, Johann simply had to ask, 'Where does someone like Shelani get high-grade military weapons like that?'

Much less be able to shoot someone's cortical stack to hell. Not an easy task, even for a trained marksman. These things were miniscule. Implanted just at the base of the head. And she supposedly did that, full of drugs.

'Fuck, Shepard! Did you even listen?' Her voice rose, angry, but not at him. 'They wanted me to drop the case! Shelani's walking around anyways! Just another dead whore! No one up there fucking cares!' She visibly reigned herself in. The two ILE troopers shuffled around uneasily. 'They just wanted it swept under the rug. Never to be spoken of again.'

The impertinent question to Shepard now was _why_. Just publicity. His Envoy sense tingled, whispering no. But that would have to follow in due time. First he had to absorb. Piecing together a picture he could actually draw conclusions from. And for that he simply didn't have enough facts. Just a lot of wild, baseless theories. And the biased opinion of one very upset ILE officer.

'So you contacted the Council.'

Lieutenant Iresa laughed. An infectiously bubbling laughter that sent a twitch down his spine. 'Oh, no. I mean I know someone in the information broker business. But even they wouldn't get that far to get the Spectres scrambling.' She sobered up. 'Actually it was Shelani who requested it. Behind T'armali's back, no less. Seemed she was the only one besides me dissatisfied with the conclusion of . . . her suicide/murder case. Pretty upset about the whole idea that she killed someone. Said she'd never do such a thing. She was one hell of a sobbing mess when I told her.'

That managed to grab Johann's undivided attention. 'That so? Tell me, do you know how old she is? Subjectively, of course.'

'About seventy. Came to Illium rich already. Why?'

'Just looking for an angle,' he deflected.

One of the pilots looked over her shoulder, informing them that they'd arrive at Shepard's interim abode in just a few minutes.

Lieutenant Iresa looked at him, wide-eyed, as if she'd just received an epiphany out of nowhere. Maybe divine intervention. 'You do realise that you won't encounter any friendly faces. Stirring up all this mess again. Could get pretty ugly.'

'I know.'

It seemed she didn't pick up on the irony. The reversal of sides.

She bid him goodbye for the time being with a lazy wave of her hand and shouted after him – mind you, when he was nearly out of earshot – that she'd pick him up tomorrow at 9 a.m. to take him to the crime scene.

Shepard watched the bulky ILE skycar glide away until he lost it in traffic.

He took a deep breath, tasting the air. Then lit himself a cigarette.

The air might smell cleaner up here, but hidden beneath interplanetary webs of deceit and trickery hid nothing less but the same sense of danger he'd experienced on Omega. But where Omega showed everything of its violent detail shamelessly, Illium shrouded itself in the games of subterfuge and cloak and dagger.

_The view's better, at least._

**.**

**[_h_+]**

**.**

Miranda Lawson rose out of her kneeling position. Cocking her head to the side, she took a few seconds to appreciate the elegant curves of the piano manufactured from dark wood. Real wood, imported from Earth.

She answered the quantum-entanglement feed, still up and running. The man on the other side stayed silent, letting her reach her own conclusions in response to all that had been said by now.

'How doesn't this deteriorate our position any further?' she asked.

'It won't.'

'They sent their poster boy. Who shut down several of our operations in the Traverse.'

'I remember. While I appreciate your concern, Miranda, Shepard's judgment can be trusted. No matter his past actions against Cerberus.'

Of different opinion, Miranda grimaced. 'If he detects our connection to all of this, he's going to follow the smell of blood, like a tenacious bloodhound. And Cerberus might well be on the receiving end of his ire.'

The response came, calm. 'Tell me, these projects, what's your assessment of them.'

Running over the facts again, she answered, 'Limited gains, mediocre success rate, radical tendencies to achieve minor results. All in all nothing that'd hurt Cerberus if they were to be shut down.' It lit up, like a treasured book thrown into the fire. 'You threw the Alliance a bone.'

'Exactly. Shepard looks good to the rest of the Council races and we don't have to dirty our hands with it.'

'He'll follow the facts. And the facts will lead him somewhere else. If you manage to stay out of his way, he'll never even suspect our involvement.'

A part of Miranda, buried deeply, clawed its way to the surface. 'Manage?' But the Illusive Man chose every word with care, so there'd be a reason.

'Don't underestimate him, Miranda.' A pause. If contemplation could be ascribed with a sound, it would be just that. 'We've met once. He and I. A long time ago. I've got a sense for the man that day and we came to a certain understanding. Every single one who disagreed with that ended up dead.'

'I am positive that the understanding we achieved on that day still stands and will continue to do so in the future.'

'I see.' _Enough, for now, at least._

'Good. If you think bringing Shepard into the fold on this will bring harm to Cerberus, then don't. I trust your judgment, Miranda. Otherwise you wouldn't be there.'

With that the connection was cut.

Miranda went back to work. Planting bugs was rather tedious. She should've sent a team.

But they'd probably botch it up.

That wouldn't do.

**.**

**[_h_+]**

**.**

Each of the luxury suits was composed of multiple disks, sometimes adjacent to another, sometimes on top of one another, linked by short gangways.

The entire apartment – one of three available and reachable only per private elevator – was built in a modular way on the arched top of Blue Interstellar's soaring spear-like edifice. All three combined gave the renowned hotel an abloom appearance, like a flower yearning for the sun to rise.

A genteel, female voice greeted him as Shepard entered his apartment's living room.

'Welcome, Spectre.'

Light gradually awakened to life, a warming golden glow dimmed to a minimum illuminated some of the flooring. A more clinical whitish-blue shone down from above on the high ceiling, bathing everything in a shimmering ocean of pale colour.

The opulence of the place bled through, thick and obvious. Like an expanding pool of blood on a white tiled room.

Two short steps led down into the sprawling circular area. To one side a hearth cackled delightfully, surrounded by leather seating furniture. Most likely made from adaptive temperfoam to accommodate any race. The curving wall to both sides of the fireplace was filled with rows of books, some of them looked positively ancient.

On the opposite side of the room a stairwell crawled up, leading to the terrace of the apartment, covering half the roof. The other, transparent, was covered in glass, through which the dying rays of sunlight peeked in. Sprouting from the sun deck, another gangway, exposed to wind and weather, stretched towards a private landing pad.

In front of the steps stood a sleek piano, made from tasteful dark wood. A large vid-screen hung down from the middle of the ceiling, currently powered off.

Johann stepped further into the apartment, approaching one of the oval gangways.

'The Council sure as hell ain't paying for this,' he muttered to himself as he reached the entrance to the bedroom. Everything was covered in rich velvet, the furniture carved from something akin to cherry wood, yet not quite like it. Another gangway led from the bedroom to the bath and sanitary facilities.

The artificial voice piped up again. 'Actually it was Ms Shelani who covered the expenses of your stay, Spectre.'

_Huh._

Dropping his duffel bag, Shepard strolled out into the living room again to explore the residual space of his palatial apartment.

Head half-cocked, he asked, slightly irritated, 'Who're you? You're no AI.'

'Correct. Even though common on Earth and its colonies, Illium has not yet adapted such controversial practices. My name is Cara, I am the in-house virtual intelligence.'

'In-house. You mean the hotel?'

'No. Just this particular apartment.'

Wonderful, a virtual intelligence bored out of its intellectual capabilities with nothing better to do than record his movements all day long. Nonetheless, better than a full-blown AI, when they became bored it was seldom an enjoyable experience. Cybercrime gained a whole new meaning since then.

'You record anything of your customers?'

'Normally, yes. Seeing as you are an agent of the Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance I am legally prohibited from doing so.'

Well, being a lackey to the Citadel Council had its advantages. Few, but they existed. 'Good.'

Deciding to take a shower and let his cramped muscles relax from the journey, Shepard shrugged off his clothes and armaments.

The passage of time became of no essence to Johann. His senses shrunk to the sensation of heated water pouring down his naked skin.

As such he didn't know how much had passed.

The virtual intelligence construct actually managed to convey a sense of urgency.

'Spectre!'

But, in the end, a virtual intelligence stayed a mere virtual intelligence, restricted in its options, in its view of worldly matters. Its computational capacity had its limits. Maybe an actual artificial intelligence might've spotted it.

Glass shattered explosively.

Up this high, above the cover of clouds at the tip of Blue Interstellar the currents rushed in like water tore through a broken dam.

The tell-tale sound of engines as well as the whine of hyper-velocity slugs as they shredded the interior of his apartment spurred Shepard into action.

Damned VI.

An ultravibe grenade went off with a blood-curling screech.

Too late.

His ears rang, a thrilling echo of sensory overload.

Too fucking late.

**.**

**[_h_+]**

**.**

_Thanks for reading,_

_fjun_

_20150217 - Edited some typos. Hope I caught them all._

_20150423 - Changed a few paragraphs._


	2. Threat Of Eternity

_Author's notes:_

Disclaimer:_ Mass Effect, Mass Effect 2, Mass Effect 3 and all related characters and trademarks are property of EA/Bioware. __Takeshi Kovacs trilogy belongs to Richard K. Morgan. __Rated M for language, violence and suggestive (maybe even explicit) themes_.

_Sorry for my long-ish absence. Writing Mass Effect or sci-fi in general feels harder to me than fantasy, for some reason I haven't yet deciphered. Hopefully you'll like it anyway. I'll try to update, at least a bit, more regularly, but I cannot promise anything, sadly. I'd like to write more, but I haven't the time. Not really, and when writer's block rears up and knocks me in the head, overcoming it is often too much of a strain._

_Nonetheless, please, enjoy._

**.**

**[_h_+]**

**.**

**The Silence In Between **

**Chapter II **

**Threat Of Eternity**

**.**

**[_h_+]**

**.**

Succeeding only partially, the military-grade neurachem grafted onto his nervous system scrambled to counter the effects of the ultravibe grenade, sub-sonics still ringing painfully inside his head. The Envoy conditioning pushed itself to the forefront and smothered the rest.

Johann's Envoy senses crawled out, soaking up the entire situation in a heartbeat. They entered through the sundeck's glass roof. Alert, with a fluid efficacy which belied their special operations training. His senses sharpened, aided by the neurachem, scraping raw against the threshold of pain, just shy of the unbearable end of the spectrum. Four. Five of them, tops. Spreading out to cover the entire apartment.

Nude, dripping water, soaked hair clinging to his skin, Shepard only just managed to grab his slim SA-issue monomolecular knife as the first of the assailants entered the bedroom.

Ready to pounce, Shepard's muscles tensed.

From the shadows, speeding over the carpeted floor with quick and silent steps on the balls of his feet, Johann invaded the black-clad figure's personal space, swatting his gun aside with the heel of his palm. Two quick motions, upwards. He hurled the intruder aside, onto the perfectly made bed, with a severed axillary artery and an opened throat.

The layers of scarlet velvet blankets atop the king-sized bed hid the blood in a morbidly peaceful illusion.

_Snap out of it! _Reileen Ridaura screaming at him. First day with the Corps.

He'd bought a few seconds worth of time. Quickly, he put on a bit more appropriate attire for the firefight ahead and grabbed his Diamond Back revolver, checking the unconventional side break action before flicking off the safety.

_Thanks, Rei._

Still barefooted, he tiptoed along the gangway leading into the living area of the apartment, handgun held close to his chest. Johann stopped just at the edge, back pressed against the wall, straining his ears.

No doubt about the fact that the assailants had already established what the sudden radio silence of one of their comrades over their internal com meant. If they were any good, that is. But judging by the smooth movements the dead one behind him had exhibited, they were outfitted with top-of-the-line combat-sleeves, worth a fortune. Something Shepard himself couldn't claim for the flesh he wore.

Letting a drawn out breath escape his lips, closing his eyes shortly, listening to the approaching footsteps, Shepard let the neurachem run its course. The frenzy of his mind replaced by Envoy calm.

Peripherally, something yanked at his vision. Tugged it back from an unidentifiable edge wavering with wafts of heat elusively distorting the air, before it metamorphosed to a euphoric clearness. The world snapped into bright focus. His senses heightened to an almost animalistic perception. Everything sharpened to be covered in a surreal crystalline glint.

Johann checked the chronometer up high in the left corner of his eyesight, placidly ticking by. Rounding the corner, Shepard surged out of cover.

Time slowed to an idle crawl. Perception completely detached from the passage of seconds, minutes and hours. Only his heartbeat was there, calm, accompanying him like a steady war drum, even the prospect of violence didn't elate the beat.

One left. Two right. Two males, one female. All of them wore light ballistic-flex armour and full-face helmet rigs, their golden visors reflecting the light thrown down from the ceiling.

Before he'd fully stepped out of the gangway, Johann's arms had already completed their inbred movement, anticipating his first target's location, a reflex honed by performing the motion a thousand times over with always the same clinical detachment. He simply curled his finger.

The Diamond Back went off with a mad bark.

The pair to the right dove for cover, a heartbeat too slow, too sloppy, too surprised. Even their no-expenses-spared manufactured sleeves couldn't save them in time. Blue flaring kinetic shields stopped the bullet from taking the rightmost of the assassins in the eye. But it didn't stop the subsequent explosion, cracking open the faceplate and taking half the head underneath with it in a misty spurt of flesh and bone, showering the surroundings. The second assailant, the female, besides the half-decapitated man flailed, thrown off by the exorbitant usage of smart munition on Shepard's part, stumbled, sprawling awkwardly on the floor.

The black-clad figure to Shepard's left recovered the quickest, zeroed in on him and snapped off a burst of accurate shots. Already shifting his weight to one leg, pushing off with the other, Johann barely managed to pirouette out of the bullets' path, and into cover anticipating the third assailant's move. One projectile still grazed Shepard's torso, tearing open the ribcage with a scything sting.

With a neural command, the eezo nodes littering his sleeve flared up like countless tactical nuclear charges in space, the sensation sending shivers through his limbs, quickening his heartbeat, skin flush with excitement. A light step, a miniscule shift of muscle hurled him into a biotically accelerated charge, crossing the distance to the third assailant in the blink of an eye. Too short to develop the bone-crushing force of a longer charge.

Nonetheless, the sudden deceleration process and the curling biotic energies released, knocked the man off balance, most likely disoriented. Stepping in close, Johann locked the man's arm under his own armpit, which tightly clutched an erratically firing sub-machine gun, the shots ripping the rows of ancient books to bits of papery gore.

Lowering his Diamond Back, barrel pressed against his immediate enemy's leg, Shepard blew out his kneecap in a splatter of bloody pulp, the calf severed. Letting go of the screaming man, cries muffled by the helmet-rig he wore, Shepard deftly turned around and emptied the man's head of a large portion of his brains, careful to avoid harming the cortical stack in the spine.

The last of the assailants still alive, struggled up after her clumsy descent to the tiled illuminum flooring. With swift paces, amplified by the energy of auroral biotics covering his body like wafting up tufts of steam after a hot shower, Johann practically glided through the apartment, the skin around his mouth taunt. Still rising, the woman managed to snap up her rapid-reload shell-shotgun. Nasty piece of weaponry. Unfortunately for her, just a heartbeat to slow.

Grabbing the top of the female invader's bulky weapon, Shepard tugged it upwards. Launching himself in the air, Johann straddled the woman at the waist, like a lover. Relocating his superior weight to the right, away from her gun, they both went down in a heap. Rolling off his shoulder, Shepard came out on top, bringing down the business end of his Diamond Back with a snarl before the woman could recover her wits. The crunch her crushed trachea emitted resounded in the once more peaceful and quiet living room with a delightful cadence. Shepard kicked her shotgun out of reach. Flapping around like a fish gasping for air, her slim hands went for her throat, clutching feebly, gasping for air.

A thunderous roar from above, like a rising hurricane trailing through the Nos Astra skyline with the promise of vengeful destruction. Johann sprinted up the stairs, came to halt in a crouch just as he reached the sundeck. He emptied the remaining bullets in his revolver's chamber into the pristine hull of the taking-off VTOL. A futile attempt to bring the armoured vehicle down, even though the explosive munition rocketed the aircraft to the side, blackening its hull.

The Diamond Back clicked empty in his hand and Shepard screamed at the H-shaped tail of the retreating aircraft.

He plopped down on a couch nearby, deflated, and cast a glance at the internal chronometer of his ocular implants. From down below he perceived a sizzling noise.

'Fuck me.'

**.**

**[_h_+]**

**.**

_What is it with these humans? Can't even leave them alone for a few hours. I swear trouble is ingrained in their DNA as much as wanting to fuck anything walking by them._

The ILE skycar touched down smoothly and the hatch opened. Iresa was buffeted by the roar of the engines, midway through the process of powering down. Ducking, to present a smaller target and avoid being swatted away by the wailing winds, Iresa reached the one-way kinetic barrier sheltering the sundeck of the Spectre's palatial apartment.

Troopers were already downstairs, trying to make a sense of things and gauge any clue as to the identity of the assailants.

Drawing on a lit cigarette, Shepard perched cross-legged on a couch, its body woven from a fine, pink-coloured timber growing exclusively on Thessia. He appeared unfazed, if not a bit wrung out, hair still damp. Iresa spotted a grazing shot, which tore open his flesh, blood covering the entire side.

What undoubtedly perplexed her most was his attire: just boxer shorts.

Irritated, Iresa approached, able to find a modicum of politeness. Her tone clipped, she asked, 'You alright?'

He looked up at her. 'Sure.'

'What about that?' She gestured at his wound.

He glanced down shortly. 'It's nothing.'

'It doesn't look like nothing.'

'What are you? My mother?'

Iresa snorted. 'No. And I thank the Goddess for that. But I'm an officer of the law.' _Whatever that means on Illium._ 'Can't have you dying just because you're a stubborn bastard.'

Shepard remained silent for a while, only drawing on his cigarette. 'It's no hindrance.'

'I didn't ask that.'

'No. You didn't.' He exhaled. 'But as long as it doesn't impair my movement. It just that. Pain. Nothing else. It helps me.'

These testosterone-ridden hair-scratching primates were going to be the end of her. 'What?'

'The pain. It helps me think.'

Iresa frowned, a headache starting to pound her temples. 'Well. What do you think, then?'

The human Spectre looked down the stairwell, expression unreadable. 'I'm not quite sure.'

'I thought you Envoys were supposed to know everything.'

'We can only combine what we know, lieutenant. And, currently, I know not with whom I should associate the welcoming party downstairs nor do I know the reason for their warm welcome. All I know is that those sleeves down there. They're top notch.' He shrugged, watching her. 'There are many people who'd wish me a corpse.'

'Can't imagine why.' The snide comment came out harsher than she actually intended. But Shepard seemed unaffected.

'People always find a reason.'

A transparent rebreather mask dangling around her neck, Private Lantaya jogged up the stairs, hovering a few feet away, shuffling around, a datapad clutched in her arms like a shield. Iresa waved the young asari over.

'Lieutenant.' She saluted.

Iresa gestured for her to get on with it, never having been one for protocol. The rookie bobbed her head up and down. Out of the corner of her vision, Iresa saw the Spectre smile wryly.

'Yes, ma'am. Four bodies, all of them human, ma'am. Artificial sleeves and gear appear to be military-grade hardware. Forced entry through the roof-'

'Their stacks?' Iresa asked.

The young private shook her head, opened her mouth, but Shepard intercepted, flat gaze steering over the skyscrapers catching the waning evening light. 'They'd a self-destruct installed. Toxic charge. Decomposing the stack after seconds. Leaves a nice hole. Sometimes gets the killer too.'

Iresa felt a bit shocked at the revelation. But fanatics could be found among any group of sentient existence. No matter their biological lifespan. Private Lantaya, skin taking on a pallid colour, appeared squeamish. Iresa dismissed her before anything happened and the young asari practically flew down the staircase. _Should tell you something. That she rather wants to be down there playing with corpses than up here with her and the first human _Spectre_._

'You knew?'

'It was already too late. I couldn't go down there. The toxins would've killed me.'

Iresa nodded, understanding, wrangling with herself over what she was about to say. 'You have someplace to stay?'

Shepard peered at her, strangely. 'Well, this place is infested with unbreathable air for at least another few hours. So, no.'

Iresa heaved a sigh. 'You can crash at my place if you want. For the night that is. We're going to have a look at the crime scene tomorrow anyway.'

'Thanks.'

'But I swear. If you aren't on your best behaviour I'll kick you till you bleed.'

Shepard just arched a brow at her.

'In front of Ellie. Even though she's somewhat of a fangirl.'

'And Ellie is?'

'My wife. As you humans say.'

He groaned. 'Great.'

Iresa flashed a smile in his direction. 'Thought you'd like that. I'll have one of troopers fetch you some clothes. Then we'll be off. You've interrupted dinner, you know.'

Behind her, the Spectre grumbled something inaudible, provoking Iresa to cover up her laugh.

**.**

**[_h_+]**

**.**

The following morning, 9 a.m. sharp, they flew down to the nearest ILE precinct in Nos Astra, to Lieutenant Iresa's workplace, in perfectly content silence. Rather than discuss events which had transpired the night before.

Lieutenant Iresa had initially seemed a bit surprised at Shepard's charming demeanour, layered on like make-up, and the way how he easily conversed with her wife. Johann had seen Ellie's type often. Romanticising every cruel decision and gruesome battle into something noble. They saw the best in everything. Or simply lied to themselves disturbingly well. He didn't want to shatter the illustration she'd painted inside her mind. It'd do her no good. And him neither.

Heavily-armed security drones patrolled the exterior of the ILE precinct in an ostensively random pattern. Though, before Shepard's eyes something akin to a pattern only a machine could think up was already discernible. A complex, inhuman one, but a pattern, nonetheless.

They touched down on the tarmac on top of the station and walked inside, drawing curious gazes after them. Lieutenant Iresa barged through every security checkpoint uncontested, Shepard in tow.

The lieutenant gestured towards a door. 'You go on in. I'll have it loaded up.'

'Sure.'

The haptic lock of the heavy-set door seemed to recognise his Spectre credentials, flashed in confirmation and opened up automatically with a satisfied hiss. Above the door, in bold letters, was stamped: VCRE – VIRTUAL CRIME REVIEW ENVIROMENT. Another step, ushered in by humanity, out of the stagnant swamp the Council races were stuck it.

Once inside, Johann made a beeline for the rarely used pods, judging by the condition they were in, no scratch marks, a slight cover of dust here and there.

Lying down inside number three, squirming to get comfortable, Shepard refrained from applying the safety harness. No real need to fear injury by force feedback while reviewing a crime scene. He initiated the start-up sequence with an eye blink, looking straight into the heads-up display above, the orange diamond-shaped icon flashed green.

A current shuddered through his spine and traced along it, reaching his head. Johann closed his eyes and fell through static grey.

Bright flowers blossomed, mimicking an ever-changing spectrum of colour, too fast to identify each and every one. Until they folded inward before expanding, fracturing. Billions of pixels raced outwards, like miniature suns of millions of star systems crowding the endless expanse of space.

Out of the grey nothing a murky room trickled up like inverted rain. Through angled shutters rays of light filtered through, motes of dust hanging in the seedy air. Smoke lingered and a sweaty scent clung to the seams and edges of the room, etched into the walls. Empty bottles and broken glasses littered the floor. Like a hieroglyphic message only to be deciphered from a bird's view.

On the large bed occupying most of the room two naked female corpses sprawled, slumped against each other in a tumble of stiff extremities. One pale skinned and full bodied in the right places. In contrast to the other woman's body: tanned, long-limbed and fit. Their faces were seared off, a mess of charred organic tissue, holes in the back of their skulls, just at the nape. A lone chair stood facing the bed.

Shepard slumped down into it. Folded his hands, head resting on the tip his fingers formed, he surveyed the scene with narrowed eyes.

Lieutenant Iresa blinked into existence next to him. Standing a little bit taller than in reality, the unconsciousness worked funny that way in virtual. A bit healthier coloured, fewer rings under her eyes and fuller breasts. She looked about and seemed to notice his presence only after a few dazed seconds. She stared down at him with a sneer.

'Comfortable?'

Shepard ignored her comment. 'Which is Shelani?'

'You didn't guess?'

Of course, he had. Hand stiffened in rigor mortis, the pale-skinned supermodel sleeve still clutched a compact pulsejet blaster. Military-grade weaponry, not illegal on Illium, few things were, but hard to come by nonetheless. The SA kept a tight-lock on their tech when they wanted to. He gestured to the bed-side table. 'In summary?'

'Every narcotic you can possibly imagine. Tetrahydrocannabinol. Methamphetamines. Endorphins. Red Sand. Hallex. That new designer drug. Creeper. Take your pick.'

Shepard grunted. The Envoy programming clamped down on the irrational itch crawling over his skin, suppressing a sudden urge.

'What?' Lieutenant Iresa asked.

'Nothing. It's just impressive.'

'Impressive?'

'That they were able to fuck.'

Lieutenant Iresa snorted, an expression on her face which should probably remind him of the ape hormone cocktail guiding his biased system. And that of every other human male.

Johann got up and walked to the window comprising the entire wall to the left of the bed. 'Where is. Here?'

'Down in the industrial districts. Lower levels. Among the billions of poor and indentured souls. As far removed as possible where someone like Shelani would be.'

'Alright.'

'Alright?' Lieutenant Iresa mimicked his tone.

Shepard shrugged. 'I'm not going to find anything of use here, lieutenant. Just like you.' She looked away. 'There's no sign of struggle. Shelani's got the blaster, like you said. Scorch marks on the wall-' he gestured to where she stood, near the door '-and on the ceiling. Where Shelani probably torched her own face off. Nothing interesting. And everything lends credibility to your theory.'

Lieutenant Iresa hissed at him. 'Wasn't my theory. Besides, every DNA evidence or otherwise organic trace left behind has been wiped. According to forensics in a matter of seconds.'

Johann slated his eyes at her. 'DNA scrubber?'

'Probable. It's the only thing coming to mind.'

Shepard had used those quite a few times whilst working for the Envoy Corps. The first pulse mapped any organic imprints via a three dimensional scan, then removed them with a second pulse of subtle quick-shift nano-biotic fields scouring the room.

Heat in her voice, she glared at him. 'And if you ever call it _my_ theory. I'll cook you with warpfire. Was just some bullshit line I fed down their throats.' Who she meant with their, exactly, she left dangling in the choked air.

Johann tried for laconic disinterest. 'I know.'

She gave a tired sigh. 'You really don't care. Do you?'

'Why should I? Sentimentality wouldn't help either way.'

'Goddess. You Envoys really are fucked in the head.'

Shepard smiled.

**.**

**[_h_+]**

**.**

The world was on fire. A raging maelstrom of flame surrounded him on the plinth he stood. The faint presence of a destroyed statue looming at his back, gave him some obscure semblance of support, of balance.

The sky filled with blackness, marring the once beautiful sunset. Skyscrapers and monuments of architecture spearing towards the clouded canopy crumbled with a shaking roar until only charred husks remained.

They were looking at him.

They were _fucking_ looking at him.

Up, their eyes brimming with expectancy, with such clarity and surety in him. They wanted to be shepherded out of this fiery hell consuming the planet around them.

And they looked to him for guidance.

All he could do was lie well.

_We'll make it out of here alive._

A ding.

Johann jolted upright, halfway out of the automould chair. His surroundings blurred into focus and he slumped back with a sigh, mildly unimpressed with himself.

'Agent Shepard.'

Johann cocked his head. 'What?' His voice sounded hoarse. The Envoy barriers wrapped around him in layers, a heavy presence in his mind and the rinse of the dream dripping off it.

'The IA&amp;R construct is loaded up and ready for you to enter.'

Extracting the female assailant's cortical stack hadn't been all the hard. Of course, the fact that she'd still been breathing, albeit barely, – more like wheezing – had help tremendously in that regard. Flipping her on her belly what followed were steady hands, two precise incisions, one above the stack cutting into her spine, one below, with his monomolecular blade and an application of physical leverage and the damned thing came free with a wet sucking noise. Fabricating the damage of a toxic self-destruct was child's work compared to that. Wouldn't do to let ILE suspect anything.

He rubbed his dry eyes, trying to coax a state resembling wakefulness into them. 'Thanks.'

'My legal subroutines compel me to inform you of the fact that the action you are about to undertake is prohibited by Council and Illium law with a penance of up to thirty subjective years in storage if committed by a human.'

'Don't feed me that crap line again, _Cara_. Or I'll torch your datacore to the ground.'

'Affirmative, Agent Shepard. Logging you out.'

Fucking corporate virtual intelligence constructs. Probably knew full well that every major player on Illium disregarded the law when it suited them. Besides, the VI had no clue as to what he actually meant to fucking do. But, that was kind of beside the point.

IA&amp;R. Identify, Assess and Recover. The needed equipment fit in two carryalls. Most military-grade cortical stacks had the software installed by now. Coming back from the dead is never an easy or smooth procedure. Not even for a spec-ops soldier. It is messy business. The psyche rarely took the dying part in stride. Many soldiers woke up screaming out their madness and kicking at the demons haunting them. Of course, some always survived death, but it changes you irrevocably.

So, before downloading and decanting a killed soldier into a new combat-sleeve, ready to throw him back into the frontline trenches, the SA now decided to send in the psychosurgeons first. To Identify. To Assess. To Recover. If possible. Grunts usually weren't worth the time and effort required to flick them back into a state approaching sanity again. Spec-ops, with highly specialised skillsets, though, were a completely different story.

Shepard put on the skeletal electrode-helm and leaned back into the automould leather chair. Before he could tilt back his head onto the rest, Cara jacked him in.

An endless field of golden wheat, brushing his elbows and tickling his back, surrounded him, as far as he could see, even with the neurachem cranked up to maximum. They danced in a light breeze, to the rhythm of a rushing sound produced by their idle movement.

Built from seamless white wooden tiles, without scratch-marks and unworn by weather and time itself, a single-family home squatted in front of him. Only an artificial or virtual intelligence construct could dream up such an unblemished house as the ideal. On the patio at the forefront of the house, shaded from the high sun by roofing, stood an unoccupied rocking chair.

Shepard entered the bizarrely twisted version of an idyllic home. She already waited for him, seated behind a wooden table, fingers folded on top. Features bland, nothing noteworthy, neither ugly nor beautiful, she stared at him with dull eyes.

Crossing his arms, Johann eased into the chair opposite her. 'Who sent you?'

She blinked.

'Alright. You're probably wondering how the fuck your stack is still intact.' He shrugged. 'I've had experience with. Extracting them.'

She twitched.

'And even though you had a self-destruct installed. Which would probably have killed me as well.' Johann tapped his chest. 'Augmented lungs. You know. Quite helpful. So either you start talking or.' Johann averted his gaze, faking a bored look.

'Or what?' She appeared amused. Envoy intuition picked out the layers beneath, the locked-away fear. Under control, for now. 'You going to torture me?'

Shepard stared back at her. 'I'm an ex-Envoy. We're sick fucks if you haven't heard.' Sometimes even so much as a whisper of the Corps could send a planetary uprising back into the complacent pits out of which it rose. But most of the time the Envoys weren't that blunt. They came and went without anyone ever noticing them, aborting the rebel regime before it even came alive.

The woman across him stiffened, then caught her reaction and tried to revise her mistake. _Got you._

Shepard shook out a cigarette and pressed it against the ignition patch. Puffing out the smoke between pursed lips, he spoke, 'I'm not going to torture you.' Doubt flickered over her face, the solid ground swiped out underneath her, just like he did before crushing her throat. _Keep them off balance. They believe something? Take it from them. Until they have nothing left. Thanks, Rei. Always appreciated._ 'I'm just going to leave you here. Crank up the ratio to one-fifty. By the time the month outside is over you'll have spent a century here. Probably insane already. It's a rudimentary virtual setup, after all. And you've no need for food or water. In three months, by the time I've probably forgotten about you, you'll have spent three centuries in mental decay. Tried to kill yourself a few times. Doesn't work though.'

Johann got up, smoking his cigarette. 'Do enjoy yourself.'

His hand was already on the door when she broke. 'Wait!'

He turned the handle, like twisting a knife. 'Fucking wait! Arrastas! Name's Arrastas! Local turian kingpin. Drugs. Guns. Experimental tech. Re-sleeving facilities. Has his talons in everything.'

Johann turned back around. 'He gave the order?'

'Fuck, no. He's just a middleman. Running a clearinghouse operation every sick fuck from here to Earth makes use of.'

Shepard waited.

'I don't know who contracted him. But I know about him. About his set-up, his operation, his business.'

She sighed, the last remnants of resistance ebbing out of her, paving the way for defeat. 'I'll tell you. Everything. Everything I know, at least.' Something hard entered her voice. 'But only if you destroy my stack afterwards. If he gets his hands on me.'

Shepard more heard than saw the shudder run through her. He jacked out. Re-entry back into reality was about as fun as coming down from a tetrameth high. The surreal glint wore off, the knowledge, which so many beings graced with the dubious gift of sentience lacked, that he wasn't in control of reality as he was of virtual nestled at the back of his head. Lodged there by the rigid Envoy conditioning.

'Can you upload a construct of me into IA&amp;R?' he asked the ever present in-house virtual intelligence.

'With the amount of interactive data gathered of you by now, Agent Shepard, I am able to do so.'

'Do it. Find out everything she knows. Send it to my omni.' Leaning forward, Johann rubbed his eyes. 'Then shut it down and scrub it clean.'

'Affirmative, Agent Shepard.'

Fucking moronic fanatics. Death didn't scare them. But eternity did.

**.**

**[_h_+]**

**.**

_Thank you for reading. I'm always interested in your thoughts._

_fjun_

_20150423 - Edit: minor changes. Added two paragraphs._


End file.
